


And Since We've No Place To Go

by fromthebeginningthen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arm Linkage, Blushing Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Hugging, Insecure Sherlock, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Panicking Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Post-Season/Series 03, Santa Hat, Sherlock is soft, Sherlock why, Sherlock's Hair, Snow, john loves him, why can't sherlock see this already?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthebeginningthen/pseuds/fromthebeginningthen
Summary: Sherlock decides this Christmas he's going to confess his feelings to John, and make this the best Christmas he's ever had in the process.Christmas fic where each chapter contains a specific Christmas themed element that people prompted me for. Each chapter is in the same universe and chronological. Rest in peace to the poor people who tried reading this, I haven't updated in over a year. Long story short, my laptop deleted every file in existence on its system including all of my progress and outlines for this so I basically rage quit writing it. I'm getting back into writing so I may update this at some point this year, I don't know guys. I'm sorry!





	1. Santa Hat

Six days before Christmas and Sherlock couldn’t hear the end of it. John wasn’t counting aloud, but he didn’t have to for Sherlock to know he was counting. He had been, in fact, since the first of December. He tacked up a calendar in the kitchen at the beginning of the year after the tarmac incident. At the time, John still lived with his pregnant wife, so he put plans in place for Sherlock to better keep track of time and meals. As much as John wanted to go back to Baker Street, he was terrified to leave Mary and felt he had a patriarchal duty. 

It was just his luck that Mary ended up being the cause of Moriarty’s return. Moriarty was dead, but Mary took his place and made this clear with another attempt to kill Sherlock. Although this time, Sherlock had involved John in his plans, so John was able to eliminate Mary before any damage was done. She was notably not pregnant, and the baby had in fact been fake the entire time. This was to Sherlock’s satisfaction and John’s relief. John immediately moved back into Baker Street where he belonged (after a week in which Mycroft told him to because Sherlock was too scared to ask).

In December, every time Sherlock sat at the kitchen table and watched John cross off a day while flipping an omelette, he deduced the ever increasing excitement of his pen marks (more pressure and a flick at the end of the lines). He noticed how John’s hand hesitated by the time he crossed out the eighteenth, his gaze lingering on the twenty-fourth. 

The more December went on, the more Christmas decorations Sherlock ignored around London. He wasn’t sure why, maybe his reaction stemmed from the last few Christmases which were spent accidentally humiliating people, “dead,” or with Mary. This is the first real Christmas he would have since his time away, and as much as he wishes it hadn’t, his relationship with John changed. 

Sherlock has been walking on eggshells since John moved back in because he couldn’t risk doing anything that would cause him to leave. John wasn’t used to the lack of body parts and loud noises in the middle of the night. He made it clear one day to Sherlock, a couple weeks after moving back, that he actually missed these things. Sherlock remembered him saying, “You’re my best friend because of who you are, I would have never come back if eyeballs in the microwave really bothered me that much.” It took a while, but Sherlock eventually became comfortable in his own flat again. Well, _their_ flat again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But there was the little issue of Sherlock’s feelings for John. He hadn’t felt platonically for the doctor since the pool incident with Moriarty. He knew he couldn’t tell John while the threat of Moriarty was still around, because he was afraid of John being used as pawn to torment him. It already happened once when Moriarty thought they were just friends, who knows how much worse it would have been if Moriarty knew he was in love.

So he got rid of Moriarty and came back home only to find John had moved on. He would have beat himself up over thinking John was going to welcome him back immediately, except John did that for him figuratively and literally. Mary was a shock to the system, but he had to respect that relationship for John’s happiness. Except in the end, his willful ignorance of her true nature brought more pain and suffering to John. He couldn’t stop blaming himself for everything, so it was a huge surprise when John eventually moved back in once the Mary and baby issue was taken care of. 

Every day it became harder not to just get on his knees and confess all his feelings to John. Those three words bubbled to the tip of his tongue every time John called him brilliant or gave him one of those looks. Those looks that gave Sherlock hope that maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling this way. Some of their casual touches seemed deliberate, and there would be moments in doorways where conversation seemed to suspend itself in anticipation of something more physical. But neither took the next step. Sherlock was constantly burning with this in the back of his mind, so is it any surprise that he was caught off guard by the Santa hat gift from Scotland Yard?

His thoughts had distracted him from the press conference Lestrade was in the middle of having about a recent serial killer being caught. Sherlock had of course done most of the work, so Lestrade required him to be there in case the reporters had questions, and John of course convinced him to go with that annoying puppy dog face. 

The sudden silence, besides a few clicking cameras, pulled him out of his mind and into the present moment. He looked at the reporters who appeared expectant, so he turned to John for assistance. John pointedly looked to Sally Donovan who was holding a neatly wrapped present out to Sherlock. He took it, eyebrows furrowing.

“Scotland Yard thanks you for your help, Happy Christmas!” Sally smirked.

“It’s only the eighteenth.”

“Just open it Sherlock.”

So, he did. Sherlock couldn’t possibly have guessed that the box contained a Santa hat, but it did and he pulled it out to laughter from the rest of the room. He smiled at Sally in thanks, though it was more of a grimace. The hat was obviously a reference to the ear hat he was given years ago. He hoped they didn’t expect him to put this one on as well.

Unfortunately, one of the reporters shouted at him to put it on. This invited a chorus of requests and Sherlock found himself panicking. The panic was ridiculous, it’s not like this was the first time he had been in this situation. But the surprise and the camera flashes and all those voices telling him what to do getting louder and it was all overwhelming too much data at once and when was the last time he slept oh god were his hands shaking? 

Warmth. John. He glanced down and saw that John had placed his hand on the one Sherlock was clutching the hat with. His eyes darted to John’s and he could read the concern in the lines of his forehead. John gently took the Santa hat and put it on his own head then smiled at Sherlock in reassurance. Perfect, brilliant, observant John. Somehow, he’d sensed Sherlock’s mounting panic and directed the attention to himself instead. 

He loved him. He loved him. He loved him.


	2. Decorating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was finished later than planned, but in my defense I spent the last two days moving out of my apartment. Beta'd by the lovely @sectumsarah on Twitter, I couldn't have written this without her author expertise!

Sherlock was relieved when the press conference was over and John hailed a cab. John decided to wear the hat outside and still hadn’t taken it off when they crouched inside the car. John gave the address to the driver and they settled in. Sherlock still felt as though his throat were closed, preventing him from speaking aloud, so he sat quietly instead. He was content with the comfortable silence he seemed to have with only John and Mrs. Hudson. 

It wasn’t a cloudy day, and Sherlock took advantage of the rare weather to commit John’s sunlit face to memory. He only needed a few moments to memorize it, but he knew John was used to his staring so he didn’t turn away just yet. He took this image of John, lit up and golden with a fuzzy red hat, and placed it on a shelf in the John wing of his mind palace. This bookcase was filled with John in various light and at different times of day and night. He retreated out of his head, satisfied with its position.

The cab ride was quiet and John paid the fare (as usual). Once inside 221B, Sherlock immediately skulked to his room and exchanged his coat and suit jacket for a woolen beige robe. John was still hanging up his own coat by the time Sherlock completed his task and curled up on the sofa, wrapping himself up tight in the robe. 

He took a deep breath and sorted out all the smells (old paper, leather, John, lingering smoke, burnt bacon, formaldehyde) and all the sounds (click of the kettle, John’s footsteps, Mrs. Hudson watching TV downstairs, cars across the street, ticking clock, his own breathing). The sorting of familiar data had a calming effect and Sherlock could think again. 

John got out two mugs and prepared his and Sherlock’s tea once the kettle boiled. He brought them into the living room and held one out to Sherlock who took it with a hum.

“Budge up.” John patted Sherlock’s legs.

Sherlock curled up tighter to make room. John gently took Sherlock’s feet and placed them in his lap, sitting down and resting the hand with tea on top. With his other hand, he reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned the TV to a movie channel.

Sherlock felt warmth flood his cheeks as his stomach somersaulted at the ease and comfortability John had with him. He’s never had this kind of domesticity with anyone else in all his years. The rift Sherlock caused between them after his fall seemed to close when John finally moved back in. He never thought they would be this close again after all the pain he put John through, and his eyes stung from suppressing tears at the thought. 

He took a sip of his tea before doing something embarrassing, like making his sentiment verbal. He never thanked John for moving back in. Though, he supposed that’s not something people usually thank other people for, right? But, he felt he had to because of all the hardship he put John through in the past and all the issues he would probably cause John in the future. Christmas was a season of giving, was it not? And no one deserved gifts more than John Watson.

John seemed to look forward to Christmas this year, and Sherlock could certainly arrange for it to be a good one. No. Better than good. It had to be John’s best Christmas, he deserved no less. He would need to enlist Mrs. Hudson to help him pick out the perfect gift, but there needed to be more. Sherlock scoured the Christmas section in John’s wing and came to one conclusion; John enjoys spending time with friends on holidays, so they should have a party. 

Sherlock waved away his own discomfort because the party was for John (and he begrudgingly acknowledged that it would be _somewhat_ enjoyable to show off his violin skills). Satisfied with these plans, he opened his eyes and peered at John for a second. He removed the Santa hat at some point and Sherlock’s gaze darted around the room before he spotted it on the mantle. John had placed it on top of Billy the skull as a decoration.

_Oh!_

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John jumped, spilling a bit of his tea in the process.

“Did I say that out loud?” 

John rubbed the spilled tea with the sleeve of his jumper. “Yes, what is it?”

John’s placement of the hat made Sherlock realize that decorating is a thing John would enjoy. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell John this or about the party yet, it needed to be a surprise for maximum enjoyment. So instead he said, “Just remembered I left an experiment at Bart’s and need to text Molly about it later.” 

John’s confusion was replaced with that fond smile that never failed to make Sherlock’s breath hitch. “Okay.” 

Sherlock could only breathe again once John turned back to the screen. He would put his plans into action tomorrow once John left for his shift at the A&E. For now, he would enjoy John’s presence. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, safe in the comfort of Baker Street. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, Sherlock and John had a companionate breakfast. When John asked if Sherlock could get the eggs, he surprised John for once by complying. He hoped John wouldn’t get used to the uncharacteristic diligence for cooking that was present as part of his plans. John was surprised, but took it in stride. No point in complaining, that may deter Sherlock from ever helping again. 

“Did Molly get back to you?” John took another bite of french toast.

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked around the room, “No?”

Now it was John’s turn to be confused. “Did you forget about the experiment again?”

Damn. This is what he gets for being distracted by John’s face. “No, just. Mind palace.”

This seemed to be a satisfying enough answer for John who simply shrugged and ate the last bit of his meal. He asked if Sherlock was done before taking both plates and washing them in the sink. John’s military habits still showed up in moments like these, where he couldn’t stand to leave plates uncleaned. In other ways though, he got used to the clutter. Sherlock’s experiments and detritus were a welcome difference from the army’s strictness. 

When John turned around, Sherlock quickly averted his gaze from John’s arse (he hadn’t realized he was even staring). His eyes still followed John’s form as it went over to the coat rack.

“Well, I’ll see you later. And only text if it’s an actual emergency, I’ve been given a warning and we need the income.”

Sherlock stood up and followed him over. “We don’t actually, you just refuse to accept my money because you’re too proud.”

John rolled his eyes, “I actually like being a doctor still, Sherlock. It’s not just about the money okay?”

Sherlock harrumphed in reply.

John zipped up his jacket and said, “Don’t set anything on fire while I’m gone!”

He was halfway down the stairs before Sherlock called out, “That was one time!” Sherlock heard a muffled chuckle and then the door shut.

Alone at last. With a start he realized this is the only time he would ever be glad that John is gone. He shook his head. Now was not the time to address his dependence on John, he had some plans to set rolling.

He needed to get ready first. Sherlock took a shower (in which he deliberately kept his thoughts from straying to John), got dressed (so what if he chose the aubergine shirt that John complimented on once three years ago), and styled his hair (if there was extra product in it that was just an accident). He jogged down the stairs, primmed to his gratification.

“Mrs. Hudson!” He called.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to her own apartment. “Sherlock, dear, what is it?”

He knew if he could ask anyone for help without being judged, it would be this magnificent woman. “The last few Christmases for John haven’t been the best.” 

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes saddened in sympathy, “Right.”

“And some of that was my fault.” Here he looked down.

Mrs. Hudson tsked and took hold of his hands. “None of that now.”

He half-smiled at her before continuing, “So I wanted to make this Christmas really good for him.”

She got a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “What do you have in mind?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock spent the last couple hours creating plans for the party. They came up with a list of people who John considered friends (Molly, Mike, Graham, Sarah), and he had Mrs. Hudson call them. All were available for the 23rd, except Sarah who would be out of town with family. But no matter, the threat of John rekindling that flame would be completely removed now.

RSVPs under control, Sherlock could start the first item on the list: shopping for groceries. They always had hardly any food in the flat, and they would certainly need more to have as appetizers and desserts for the guests. Other people got hungry even if Sherlock didn’t (although he wouldn’t mind fresh cookies).

He had no idea what to shop for, so Mrs. Hudson gave him a separate list and sent him on his way to Tescos. It took him two entire hours and a cab trip back before he had everything he and John would need for cooking. Except they wouldn’t need to cook for a few days. Would the fresh food go bad before then? Embarrassed at his obvious eagerness, he wondered if it would ruin things before they even began. 

He shook his head, locking these thoughts in a vault in a closet in his mind palace. He just needed to focus on putting away the cold ingredients (John could put the rest away later) so he could bring the Christmas decorations out of storage.

Sherlock always had a spare key to flat C, though he didn’t necessarily need it because of his lock-picking skills. Once inside, he spotted the two boxes John had put the Christmas decorations from their first Christmas several years ago. It has been untouched since then, covered in a thick layer of dust. Almost as if they were waiting for Sherlock and John to live together again, despite that being unlikely when Sherlock first returned. 

He sighed, then stacked one on top of the other before crouching and picking them up. They were rather heavy and he didn’t have much energy (forgot to eat lunch, stupid). He was panting by the time he carefully placed them on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

Just then he heard the front door to 221 open and close, followed by John’s unmistakable gait up the stairs. Damn. He planned on playing the violin by the window before John came home so that his efforts appeared effortless. His heart was still racing, but this time from realizing he could call this John’s home again. John lived here. John wanted to come back here. He would savor this as long as it lasted. 

“Hey Sherlock,” John hung up his jacket and kicked off shoes. “They let me go early because it was pretty slow for once.” On his way to the kitchen John asked, “Is the kettle boiled?”

“Um.” Sherlock eloquently responded.

There were a few beats of silence before John came back into the living room. “What did you do?” He asked with some trepidation. 

Sherlock frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” John gestured behind him, “You did the shopping. Last time you did that it was because of the fire incident.”

Oh. “Oh. No, we just needed...food.” Sherlock was thinking on how to bring up the party when he was interrupted by John spotting the boxes.

He walked over with surprise and opened the one on top. “It was so long ago but, I remember these.” He pulled out a string of fairy lights, a wistful smile on his face. Probably thinking about Before. Before Mary, before the fall.

“You brought these out?”

Sherlock suddenly felt self-conscious. This was a mistake, John would not want to be reminded of the last Christmas party. How could he ever have thought this was a good idea? He tried to come up with an alternate explanation, but found none. He stuttered out, “I thought you might enjoy making the flat look...never mind. It’s fine, I can put them away. They’re dirty and probably don’t even work anymo-”

John cut off his rambling by closing the distance between them and enveloping him in a hug. John waited until Sherlock returned it before leaning back and looking into his eyes. 

“Thank you, this is perfect.” John had the fondest smile. Sherlock could almost believe his feelings were reciprocated.

Speechless because the alternative would have been an embarrassing noise resembling a whimper, Sherlock blinked at him a few times. John chuckled and went back over to the boxes.

“Well come on then, give me a hand, you berk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before they began, John plugged his phone into the iHome resting on the desk. He turned on one of those music apps and set it to a Christmas station. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but made no comments. John smiled at him sheepishly and then they got started. For the next couple hours, they emptied the boxes and filled the flat with decorations. 

First, they tacked fairy lights around the fireplace, on top of the mirror, and then across to the bookshelves. Sherlock held the lights in position while John pushed thumbtacks through the wall. Sherlock held his breath every time John leaned into his space, and occasionally had his side pressed against Sherlock’s. He couldn’t be the only one feeling electricity at every press of skin. The smell of John was addicting and he had to restrain himself from leaning in.

They had some LED color lights, which went up around the windows. Next were some garland wreaths which had yet more lights embedded in them. These were draped across the mantle above the fireplace, and the top of the door to the flat. 

While there was no tree, there were some other random atmospheric decorations. Sherlock held up a bowl of pine cones with a raised brow and John rose to its defense. There wasn’t technically room for it on the coffee table, so John just placed it on top of the newspapers Sherlock hadn’t sorted yet. 

The last decorations were small red tea lights. The two of them positioned these across the fireplace mantle and the half of the kitchen table designated as “food only.” 

Sherlock was surprised to find that he enjoyed decorating the flat, though he could admit in his mind that this was due to John rather than the decorating itself. (Okay, maybe a little bit of the decorating.) He had to admit that once they lit the candles and plugged in the lights, the flat held an intimate glow. It was mesmerizing to look at and reminded him of stargazing outside of the city as a child. Looking at John under this glow gave him the same sense of wonderment.

Sherlock and John shared few words and many smiles during this time. Each one made Sherlock’s heart skip a beat. Being this in love couldn’t be healthy for one’s heart. At one point, John began singing along to the music. The resultant fluttering in Sherlock’s stomach pushed the same confession to the tip of his tongue. But, he restrained himself. If John didn’t feel the same (and there’s a high statistical probability that he doesn’t), then ruining the peace with those words would be a mistake.

Maybe he should resolve to finally say them. After all, the longer John lived here, the harder it was to keep it a secret. Everyone seemed to know except for John. Sherlock swore everyone could read it on his face. His time away made him understand how much he truly loved John. Not just John either. He could admit to feeling sentiment for Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Lestrade as well. After losing everyone, hiding and burying his feelings seemed like a waste of energy no matter how vulnerable it eventually made him. 

At least he could trust this small family he, beyond all odds, found for himself. They’ve never judged him, so he could grant them the privilege of being more open. But the way he felt for John was so much _more_. It was dangerous. And as much as he liked danger, this was one risk he wasn’t willing to take. 

As much as he would love to get together with John in every sense of the word, he didn’t want to strain their friendship because of the possibility that it’s all unrequited. It stung. And the butterflies in his stomach felt like lead all of a sudden.


	3. Walking Downtown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Thanks for sticking with me!

Mrs. Hudson got to see the flat early the next morning. The atmosphere was different in daylight, but this didn’t stop her from exclaiming how festive it looked. Sherlock tried to hide his proud smile, but he could never hide anything from this wise woman. She gave Sherlock and John a hug each and mooned over how this was just like old times again. 

Sherlock received a text from Mycroft a little later, and his reaction prompted a look of confusion from John. He simply said, “Mycroft.” And this seemed to be satisfying enough to John.

> __
> 
> Tell him. Or stop getting used to the domesticity.
> 
> __
> 
> Piss off. SH
> 
> __
> 
> __

For the next few days, they took on only minor cases (not that there was anything higher than a three anyway). Sherlock proceeded to delete them entirely as soon as they were complete, only accepting them in the first place because John would appreciate the extra generosity for Christmas. Sherlock guessed that even the criminal masses must be holding off in the holiday spirit. For once, he was glad of their absence because now he could devote all his attention to John.

It was the next step in Sherlock’s plan to accompany John on his weekly walk around Regent’s Park. Back in the year and a half when they were originally flatmates, John had done that as a form of exercise since he didn’t fancy the idea of going to a gym. For how much he claimed not to, he cared a lot about what others thought. Sherlock was surprised and delighted to see John pick the habit back up when he moved back into Baker Street.

Sherlock actually found the habit, dare he say, cute. He’d always admired the ways the military training never left John, a creature of habit and routine being one of them. (And if he was being honest, he really liked soldiers in general. Who was he if he couldn’t admit it in his own mind?).

Sherlock’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of John jogging down the stairs from his room.

“I’m heading out,” John said as he pulled on his jacket.

Sherlock stood from where he was perched on the couch, “Mind if I join you?”

John paused his actions, his lips twitching upwards. “Really?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied with studied nonchalance. “Why not? I’ve got nothing on.”

John’s lips went into a full smile when Sherlock turned his back to pull on his own coat and scarf. Unknown to John, Sherlock caught sight of it in his peripheral vision and felt color rush to his cheeks. He wanted to get outside quickly so it could be blamed on the cold.

Once outside, it was quickly apparent that the gloves in Sherlock’s pocket were, as always, a great idea and John muttered a quick, “Jesus” before running back inside to grab the nearest scarf. When he walked back out the door, Sherlock noticed that it was his old striped blue one. One he hadn’t worn in a while since Mrs. Hudson had gotten him a new one for his birthday last year.

Seeing his own scarf wrapped around John’s neck sent warmth to chest. He secretly wished they would wear each other’s clothes more often to show the rest of the world that they were each other’s. Though, this wasn’t true, was it? Sherlock and John weren’t together that way, and John would start dating women again.

Sherlock chastised the resultant tight feeling in his chest, trying to convince himself that he would take what he could get happily. If wearing Sherlock’s scarf out of convenience was all he could get, then so be it.

The two walked side by side to Regent’s Park, a few minutes away. The dark clouds released a heavy snow, and Sherlock and John both looked at each other and grinned. The last time Sherlock had seen snow it was in Serbia, and he had a rather unpleasant experience with it. Almost succumbing to hypothermia before being captured. He was delighted to see snow in London, however, almost as if snowfall was waiting for John and him to be best friends again. (Sherlock mentally cringed at himself for being so romantic. He was as bad as the women in Mrs. Hudson’s soaps.) The last winter had been too warm for snow in the city.

Their shoulders brushed as they walked along, a brisk pace set to increase body temperature before slowing down in the park to appreciate the scenery. Their hands didn’t touch though, for John had his ungloved ones safely ensconced in his pockets and Sherlock’s donned his old leather gloves.

Due to the weather and impending holiday, there was hardly anyone else out there. Sherlock made note of the handful of others (all couples) walking hand in hand in the distance. One couple had a child who was running ahead of them and kicking the snow around. Sherlock glanced at John to check if the child made him sad, bringing up memories of the past.

John met his eyes and smiled. Relieved, Sherlock let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It puffed visibly around his face, a mockery of the smoking habit he’d broken.

“So, any interesting deductions about the other people?”

Sherlock motioned to the people on the bridge they’re about to walk on, “Actually yes. He’s going to propose to her tonight because he can’t wait until Christmas. His hand touches his coat pocket whenever she looks away.”

John gave the man a thumbs up on their way past, and Sherlock looked away to try and hide his smile. The man gaped at John, wondering how he could possibly know.

The atmosphere made Sherlock want to compose again. He hadn’t been inspired to do so since Irene Adler. The last thing he composed was unfortunately the waltz Mary asked him to write. He felt sick at the memory of her asking him to do that with a smirk. She had known how he felt about John back then, and she was quite fond of rubbing it in.

“Sherlock.”

John said it like it wasn’t the first time he tried to get his attention. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern. Damn. Sherlock must have let his emotions show on his face, he was getting worse at that the longer he hung around John.

Sherlock tried smiling at John to relieve his worries, and John directed his gaze to his hairline.

“You’ve got a hat.”

Sherlock could imagine the snow that stuck to his hair. The curls would make a great surface to hold the flakes, which were big enough not to melt after making contact.

John chuckled as Sherlock rolled his eyes, and placed one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, halting them. His other hand reached for his curls and ruffled them, dislodging the flakes as best as he could. Sherlock watched them flutter to the ground and met John’s eyes with the smile he always reserved for John.

The hand on Sherlock’s right shoulder slid down his arm and linked with his. Then John began walking again as if this wasn’t the most surprising thing to ever happen in Sherlock’s life. More surprising than Moriarty’s “return.” John’s connected arm pulled him forward. Thank god for that, because otherwise he would be frozen to the spot and it would have nothing to do with the weather.

Flames of heat connected Sherlock to John, and travelled up to his cheeks. He should be used to blushing around John by now, but he wanted desperately to hide his transport’s reaction. He focused on John’s breath to calm himself and enjoy the moment. He couldn’t begin to think what was going through John’s head. There must be some friends that walk arm and arm, seeing as John decided to do it with him. He had to distance himself from the notion that it could be romantic, he didn’t need to get his hopes up again.

Once, they’d crossed the entire park, John kept going. This was a deviation from his usual walk, so Sherlock could do nothing but shoot a questioning glance his way. He was still afraid to talk, afraid that breaking the silence would remind John that two male _platonic_ friends don’t walk like this. He was always quick to correct people who referred to Sherlock as his date, so it was strange that he initiated this kind of contact. Sherlock didn't want to walk by anyone else, which may cause John to pull away in embarrassment.

John finally broke the silence for him. “We’ve never been to the Chinese place over here.”

Sherlock could see the red building ahead. They’ve never been there because it’s considered a place for couples. Was John really that unobservant? Sherlock disliked going places where people assumed they were dating, because he wanted it to be true. Watching their own wrong deductions made him feel lonelier than when John didn’t contact him for an entire month after returning from his honeymoon.

Sherlock just hummed in response.

“Why don’t we eat there tonight? It’s started blizzarding anyway, I’m quite chilled.”

Sherlock said, “Okay,” and followed John (as if he had a choice).

Sherlock braced himself for the moment when they would make it inside, where John would drop his arm and the physical distance between them would return. His heart ached in preparation.


End file.
